Everyday life as a Domina

Why submissive men?

Submissive men are far and away my favorite people in the world. I respect them, admire them, and adore them.

Of course, that’s especially true for the men I own, but really just in general, I’m a huge fangirl of submissive men. Seriously, they’re a thousand kinds of awesome.

Trying to articulate why they’re awesome is harder than I thought it would be. There are so many reasons.

There’s nothing sweeter than a boy curling up in my lap after being used hard, completely spent and sated, moaning softly as he clings to me.

There’s nothing sexier than the way his voice changes, the way it gets higher the more I push him. That little whine that all submissive men seem to know how to do is my favorite sound in the world. Once I hear that sound, I know I’ve got him in the palm of my hand.

I love the feeling of lying on my side behind a man, holding him close and kissing his neck and ear while I slowly fuck him, thoroughly claiming him while he whimpers and squirms in my arms.

I love that moment where a switch flips in his mind, when he goes from merely tolerating anal to loving it, when he starts to push back against me, moaning and gasping, urging me to go deeper, harder.

I love being able to control him, even from a distance. A well-placed text message can hit him like a hammer to the chest, a stark reminder of what he is and who he belongs to.

I could go on and on. There are more things I love about submissive men than there are stars in the sky. But while the kink is great, and I’ll never complain about how sweet and deliciously needy and slutty they are, it goes so much deeper than that.

A submissive man willingly opens himself up, shows a level of trust and vulnerability that is just astounding to me. He’s not a weak man, but he allows his Owner to make him weak, to bring him low, to break him, to make him cry.

He’s chivalrous and honorable, a perfect gentleman, going out of his way to serve his Owner, putting her needs before his own. Anticipating her desires and striving to meet her expectations. He works constantly to better himself, to better satisfy her. To be the boy he feels she deserves.

He gives her his heart, sure. Everyone in a relationship does that. But a submissive man takes it so much further.

He gives his Owner his body, to use however she wants. He gives up his bodily autonomy, offering himself to her (a precious gift that is not always easy to give), enduring everything she puts him through, tolerating the things he doesn’t like, and doesn’t want, because her happiness is more important than his, and because his body is a gift he’s given to her.

He gives her his mind, the most courageous thing a human being can do, completely opening up, letting her explore him, despite his fear, despite the fact that such a level of vulnerability terrifies him. He lets her in, he lets her see the parts of himself he doesn’t like, the parts he wishes were different, the parts he’s afraid of. He lets her see him at his worst, at his lowest, at his weakest. He lets her mold him, guide him, lets her create in him a perfect union of his strengths and hers.

He is loyal and faithful to her. He is protective of her, always looking to make her happy, to make her life easier, to shield her from pain and stress even as she’s shielding him. If he sees her walking down the wrong path, he gently tells her, using his unique perspective to show her something she might have missed. He supports her, advises her, and uses every skill and talent he possesses to serve her. Her happiness is his first priority.

A submissive man obeys. With every command given, he makes the conscious decision to follow her, to yield to her, to once again express his loyalty and his love in such a simple, profound way. He chooses her will over his own and gives himself over to her desires.

A submissive man creates, with his Owner, a level of intimacy far and beyond anything else imaginable. He gives her all of himself, he offers his whole being to her, he lets her use him, lets her inside him. He submits to her desire, her lust, willingly and eagerly becoming the instrument through which she experiences her bliss.

He becomes her release. Through him, through using his body and manipulating his mind, she is able to shrug off the daily stresses and anxieties that cling to her. By submitting to her, by offering himself to her, he allows her to express herself, to explore herself, to learn about who she is.

A submissive man helps his Owner grow and improve as a person. By trusting her, he helps her learn to trust herself. By submitting to her, he helps improve her confidence. By relying on her, he helps her learn self-discipline. He realizes that she is human, and that she’s never done growing, and he makes it his goal to help her in any way he can.

A submissive man yields to the guidance, the influence, the control of his Owner completely. He gives himself wholly to her. It’s not a gift that is given just once. It’s a gift he actively gives every day, with every decision he makes. And with that gift, he fills a hole in her that only he can fill. His submission strengthens her, just as her leadership strengthens him.

A submissive man lies at his Owner’s feet, at the ready to protect her and serve her, completely devoted to her, completely hers. It’s a unique, profound connection that can’t be found anywhere else.

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All pictures posted on this blog are either taken by me or shamelessly swiped from the interwebs and assumed to be public domain. If you own a picture posted here and wish it taken down, please contact me at dominajen@yahoo.com.

What this blog is

This is an 18+ blog about my day-to-day life as a Domina, wife, mother, and all that other crap. A chronicle of me. While this blog focuses primarily on the D/s aspect of my life and my relationships with Kazander, Steel, and Sounder, it is not exclusive to that subject, and I might talk about my kid, or my annoying mother, or my sister's pet cat, or whatever the hell I feel like talking about.

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It begins over a friendly disagreement, during which you smile, roll your eyes, and say, “Go fuck yourself.”

“But, Ma’am, that’s physically impossible.”

You smirk and ask how certain I am of this. On a roll, I launch into a smug and tangential rant about the anatomical impossibility of an individual’s being capable of fucking oneself. Your response is to merely shrug, smile, and make a cryptic statement:

“Don’t be so sure…”

Later that evening, you tell me bedtime will be early, an hour early to be exact. The amused look on your face says it would be in my best interests not to argue.

Sometimes I fall into a vicious cycle where I’m mentally and emotionally frustrated and cannot manage to channel that energy into productive avenues. In the old days, this would lead to drinking or drugs, but I don’t do that anymore. Instead, I try to go about my day, generally fail to complete mundane tasks and end up feeling ‘stuck’ – this progresses into a cycle of mild depression, feelings of inertia, guilt over said inertia, and then on and on it goes until something snaps me out of it.

It feels like I’m seated in a car stuck in neutral yet compelled to rev the engine until it screams.

When did I last curl up in her lap? It’s been so long, I cannot recall. Despite numbered boxcars on the calendar and the disinterested faces of clocks, a concrete memory eludes me. Time, location, and date, they’re merely three dimensions after all.